Glitter In The Air
by Ophelia Davis
Summary: No, this could be news from the Ishbalan frontline. News I would rather be deaf to, but I have to invite him in. Or, you could say, I have an obligation to invite him in." Based from the lyrics of the Pink song, Glitter In The Air. Ed X Roy.


Glitter In The Air

Written by Ophelia Davis

Based from the Anime/Manga, Fullmetal Alchemist

-Edward-

The clouds of Resembool trap away the blue sky that the radio had promised us this morning, it's only half past the time of the radio report, so as always, the weather forecast is inaccurate. They overhang the village like dark grey fluffy curtain drapes. Truthfully though, I knew to expect the rain that would accompany these depressing clouds, for the joints of my auto-mail were aching, and had been all morning. But, as the doorbell rings amidst the thunder and lightning, they throb even more. A visitor? No, military, in the form of a man wearing a black great coat over his blue cotton-tweed uniform. It's the sort of uniform that I forbid myself from wearing as a State alchemist, instead keeping to the leather pants, black vest and red jacket, that are what make me, me. The State pocket watch, a sign of a dog of the military's leash that is connected to the State, is uniform enough for me.

Once I had opened the door, the man kept to the soaking side of the doorway, not daring to step inside, despite the weather. His bright orange hairs including a moustache were the only brightness amidst the greyscale background outside. He holds his black hat to his chest, a sign of respect.

He may be a military, but he's a complete stranger to me. I don't know him. So what is he doing here? Unless…the holding of his hat, the dullness of his green eyes. No, this could be news from the Ishbalan frontline. News I would rather be deaf to, but I have to invite him in. Or, you could say, I have an _obligation _to invite him in.

It was only two weeks before that I was at Central headquarters. Military soldiers were already in place on the Ishbalan frontline to keep the peace but the same mistakes had been made again. The firing of a bullet had riled up the already aggravated Ishbalans. Riots broke out, and then soon, a war. Five hundred soldiers were requested as part of the back-up group and a list was sent out throughout Headquarters for those who first, voluntarily, wanted to be part of the frontline. The list quickly began to fill up with the names of those who were young and thirsty for their first taste of 'war and victory'. Many times these men had tried to push and prod me into joining them, for I too was a virgin to such blood wrenching battles, but every time they tried to persuade me, I turned them down.

To put an end to it, all it took was for one name to complete the list of five hundred, but it was not mine. After being practically ordered by the Top Brass to apply my alchemical skills to the battlefield, I finally gave in, knowing that it was inevitable anyway that I should fulfil my duties as a human weapon. But before I could pick up the pen, Roy Mustang, my commanding officer, picked up the pen and signed his name in place of mine, reasoning that the troops needed a soldier who already knew the area of the frontline, a man with experience.

But, the point directed at me, he said, "Besides, war is a man's battle. It is no place for the young and innocent. No matter how much of a man they think they are."

Normally, I would've protested that I didn't need his sympathy, and that I didn't need to be treated like a child, but this is different. He's doing this not just because he wants to protect me, and not just because he wants to protect my innocence, but because he loves me. He truly, truly loves me.

A year ago, when our love for each other had been realised, we would spend most lead-free days preparing and then sharing a discreet date together. All dates, naturally, had to be kept discreet, for the military strictly forbade of any 'over-friendly affection' between two soldiers and subordinates. They believed it caused distractions in the work place and on the frontlines. So we did our best to keep it a secret, and to not let out involvement with each other become a distraction.

On one night, on his round kitchen table, we had a dish of strawberries between us. With an ungloved hand, I would pick one out and feed it straight into his mouth, his beautiful eyes closed and trusting that I won't miss. And I would trust him to do the same when he fed me.

The night felt severe, the rain beat down furiously, letting loose the crashes and flashes of thunder and lightning. My joints were throbbing from the change in weather, and I couldn't leave the house to get back to my brother at the hotel where we were staying. The Colonel protested greatly against my leaving. So telling Alphonse -my brother- over the phone that I couldn't get back that night for the storm, I stayed at Roy's house. The amount of rooms, and the coldness of them persuaded us easily into sharing a double bed together. Clothed in pyjamas, we held each other close as the thunder roared outside our window and the lightning flashed enough to briefly light up our dark room. I've never liked the sound of thunder. It thrums through my being, threatening to scare my soul enough to make it flee from me. I couldn't sleep; we both couldn't.

The Colonel knew of my fear, he could sense my shaking, and softly he whispered gentle persuasions into my ear. He did it to ease my mind away from the weather, he knew we were both ready and this was what we wanted, he had the right things to make it as easy and as comfortable as it could be. Once convinced, he rolled onto my form and our lips joined.

The taste and scent of him soothed the fear that the thunder and lightning had stirred up inside. The sound of our tongues massaging one another try to block out the outside world as best it could, but the crashing thunder still manage to penetrate through, making me shudder with both eager anticipation and fear. My skin used to prick from the cold, but now it pricks from the sensitive touch of his fingers, as carefully he slides off improvised pyjama top and bottoms. The feeling of our raw skin on each other makes my body tingle, especially as the feeling of Roy's own flesh stabs against me in the grinding effort. As he slid off me, I gave my grunts of disparagement, wishing for him upon me again.

'It won't be forever.' Roy cooed; his lips kissing my neck and making me omit soft moans from my lips. It needed to be perfect, and he needed to prepare. Leaning over to his side cupboard, a draw was opened to find an ornate bottle. The cap was opened, and an almost thick liquid was poured slowly and adoringly onto his hand. His oil-covered hand massaged his own throbbing sex, preparing himself as he let out low moans. Finally, with a lubricated finger, he slid it slowly into me. It yearned for me to relax, to grow used to its presence. With a feeble nod, he introduced the next, and they once again slowly pulled in and out, scissoring themselves inside me. My throat rumbled with moans. I couldn't take it anymore, this couldn't be all there was too it. There needed to be something more. My pleasured sobs were signals enough for him, and pulling out, he lined up and slowly slid himself into place. It was then that I realised those scissoring fingers before were only the tip of the iceberg, and him being my light, the sun before the burn.

His slow soothing thrusts stirred up the monster inside me, the one that made me adapt to the -at first- strange sensation. It promised me that was what pleasure felt like, and I quickly agreed. My legs had been spread wide enough for easy workings and were bent up. My hands -the left one warm with sweat, and the right one cold with unfeeling steel- held onto his shoulders for the support of what was to come. It was upon my hurried commands that his thrusts grew at a quickening pace. My breathing grew erratic, unstable, but only because I wanted more of him buried inside me. My breaths turned into begging and keening mewls, like it wasn't enough. I wanted his hands in a place that he had not yet touched. I forced a hand to grasp around it, pumping it, making me sob, sweat and moan for more, harder and faster. And I'm soon taken to the point of no return.

The thunder crashes were finally drowned out by both our cries, our hearts beating as one. Our paces grew steadily slower as we worked through the following spasms, as we knew there was nothing more to spill except what had been.

I could feel the warm fluids dribble from the top of my stomach; the warm fluids fill me up inside, completing me entirely. I'd never felt this way before. Such satisfaction. Such ecstasy, no, love. Pure love.

Days and nights carried on together in each other's arms, that was, until the day before he left for the frontline. He had received that long awaited call. We wanted to wish each other luck. I wanted to give Roy a personal send off. We wanted to show that, even if he were killed, we would still be together in spirit, even though the idea itself was conceived completely on a whim. Dozens of packets of red and blue glitter were brought, all of it poured from their packets into a clean and simple ice cream tub. We swirled it together and, with ungloved hands, we each grabbed a fistful of the stuff. Once a breeze had picked up, and upon a countdown, we threw our fistful of glitter in the air. We laughed as it rained back down onto us, and groaned with smiles as it all got stuck in our hair and clothes, leaving us to contemplate how long it would take to wash it all out. Secretly, I said a personal prayer in my head that the cruel frontline would be merciful and kind and send Roy back into my arms once the war was over. The prayer was never entrusted to a god, or any supposed creator, but instead to my flags of hope, all waving in the air ardently for his safe return.

Once he had been transferred to the frontline in the East, I too took a train to the East, but to Resembool, so that I could somehow be close to him in spirit. The red and blue glitter didn't seem enough. Now, even at the Rockbell's house with Al, Winry and Granny Pinako here, I still feel lonely. I just sit at the sofa, waiting for the phone to ring with news from the frontline. Sometimes, I hate myself for staring at the phone like this. It's like I've not got any faith in my little personal prayer of hope. I'm practically wasting my whole life on this sofa, waiting for the damn phone to ring, just to show and prove that I'm not alone after all. Inside, I hoped that the red and blue glitter wasn't really a symbol of something that would tear up inside.

The black great-coated military man stood in front of me now, his clothes created puddles on the wood-panelled floor as he looked down at me, before speaking out his purpose.

"Excuse me? Is the Major, Edward Elric available?"

"That would be me." I corrected, glaring at him warily, to which he saluted out of courtesy.

"Then, I'm afraid I have some terrible news to depart. News that has been requested to be received by you." No! Don't say that! You can't really mean this!

"Who requested this?" I have to be sure that it isn't just a sick prank, or someone's cruel idea of a joke. But, inside, I hope it is.

"The Colonel, Roy Mustang. He said that should anything happen to him, then the messenger should report the news in Resembool to one Major, Edward Elric." He's so pedantic, too long-winded. He's making this anxiety too overwhelming to bear.

"Inform me what?"

"I am so _dreadfully_, dreadfully sorry to have to inform you this, but--." He's being too tricky, trying to tiptoe over the subject just because he thinks of me as a child! Adults always avoid the main articles! Grabbing a hold of his collar, I scream in his face, demanding that he tell me the news straight out. This ensures the footsteps of Winry and Alphonse to some stepping towards me from behind, probably wondering at the racket.

'Sir, Colonel Roy Mustang…has been killed in battle.' My grip loosens on his collar and I slump myself into a kitchen chair. No…he's lying but…he looks so honest. Why? Why him? Why my precious Colonel? This must be punishment for not having faith, for always waiting at the phone. I'm sure of it. I should've believed in him.

Before now, the noises of thunder hardly bothered me, but now, they shake me to the core. Slowly and shakily, I answer, 'H-How did he die?'

The messenger refuses to babble on this time, having taken note of my previous threat. 'A bombshell, sir. Killed him in an instant.'

'I-I see.' No pain. But I can imagine it now, the look of fear imprinted on his face and his belated realisation as he is blown to the point of oblivion by the flames. Such irony, that his beauty and life should be scarred and stolen away by the power of alchemy he loved so much: fire. Winry, behind my sitting shaking frame, rests a hand upon my left feeling shoulder, squeezing it. Her touch. It's so gentle, so warm and full of comfort. I had been forcing myself not to give into my emotions, but her touch invokes my tears to break free from their dams and soak my cheeks, like the messenger's great-coat had soaked the wood-panelling. She had touched my shoulder like she understood this pain I'm going through. She had lost her parents to an Ishbalan battlefield years before. But, how can she understand? She didn't know what we had! She'll never know! She'll never understand!

Getting up forcefully, from my seat, I push past the messenger and walk on into the cold rain that is falling heavily upon me. I can't let them see me cry. The rain shall be my clever disguise in washing them away. My quick walk across the muddy path breaks out into a run. I run for the hill. The one where the burnt corpse-like frame of my house and tree still lay: burnt like Roy's corpse. Burnt like the thousands of Ishbalans killed by those _beautiful_ snapping fingers. But as I make it to the top, I can't bear to keep my bubbling feelings trapped up inside. Breathless as I am, I scream at the top of my already burning lungs. Crying for the skies to relinquish his soul from the heavens above. I would do anything to have it back, even risk another arm or leg just to have his soul walking by my side once again.

I should've paid more attention to the hourglass that stood on every table I've seen since the news of Roy's impending departure for the frontline. Each one was the same, every hourglass was invisible to those around me and every one of them had the same name: Col. Roy Mustang engraved at the top of its stone lid. I hoped at first that it was all a coincidence and that this Roy Mustang was just a man who shared my lover's name; but that rank before showed that it's chosen person was accurately mine. They all ticked away Roy's life force at the same exact time, all of them had the same straining punctuality as one grain of sand touched down to their brothers at the exact same moment. I should've noticed how little grains of sands there were left in the top section.

'BASTARD!!! WHY? WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?!' I scream up at the skies with such a list of profanities and with such exploding rage that the sky dared not answer me back, and neither did the rain help me either. But, inside, a scene replays in my head, persisting to do so over and over again.

From his kitchen back door, having now shut it behind me, I walk out into his garden. Of course, he is waiting for me there, my mug of black coffee in his hand. Smiling up at me from his seat in the garden chair, the sun's rays do not compare to his beams that reflect from his face, and light up mine with heat rising in my cheeks. Especially as, on those lips, he calls me something sweet. Not, not honey, but sugar. Sugar dammit! Sugar!

My tears are swollen as my cries still echo through the sky and drown out the crashing thunder, as mine and Roy's cries of ecstasy once drowned it out that night. Yes, ROY'S cries. Like how he might have cried out in fear as that bastard shell blew him up! Winry and Alphonse can only watch from the doorway at my pleas and cries. They knew Roy -as a Colonel- meant a lot to me, but not like how I see him: as the man who chased away my fears. At night when I came face to face with the monster Al and I created, it would plea for life. With Roy by my side, I would look it in the face, my fear, and smile, 'I just don't care.' He would then grasp my hand and lead me away from what bad memories it possessed into a blinding white light of assured happiness. But, as fragile as I am, if I faced it now then it would engulf me completely.

Why isn't he here to chase away this fear I'm feeling now?

My knees begin to buckle underneath me, too weak to support my weight. The mud cakes my clothes and hair as I cry more tears, I ball up and scream in the agony that sudden loneliness, pain, fear and bereavement brought. I feel like some great force has ripped me in two, my body bleeding out its last drops of blood into the water swollen mud, my heart being left to struggle and beat on feebly and with a strain that counted down my last minutes of life.

On the cupboard at the side of my bed, my own stone hourglass looms over me with my name engraved on the stone top-lid. It's so much larger than Roy's. This one is the height of my bed at least, whereas Roy's was only hand held, if that. The hourglass keeps mocking me. Roy's hourglass was full of quick flowing tiny grains of sand, whereas mine is full of thicker and slower falling wheat grains, which occasionally get stuck in the bridge between the two sections before abruptly restarting again. The top section isn't even a twelfth of the way empty, representing a long road ahead. Too long. Why does the "Creator" mock me so cruelly? He grants me a long life, but fills it with such pain to make me feel entirely fragile and lost. If only my hourglass was a twelfth of the way full, that way Roy and I would be together a lot sooner.

The night tonight reminds me too much of him. The stars are the twinkle of the once present life-light in his dark eyes, and the moonlight that lit up my dreams at night with courage and hope anew. Now, I want to transmute a lasso with my heart, so that I can capture the moon and all its twinkling children and pull that flesh rope tight to pull my prizes close to my bleeding and empty chest, so that it kills me just to do it. Right now though, there are things I cherish about him: the breath before each kiss, because it gives me the relief that my loneliness will be chased away by his lips, like they are the solvers of all my problems.

Have you ever felt this way? Have you ever known the death of a child, a parent, a relative, a friend or even just a pet? I ask because as I hide under the dark covers of my bed, as I hold my breath to freeze time and make this an endless night so that I may finally get over my grief, I ask myself, and you all especially with a broken heart…will it ever get better than tonight?

_Based from the lyrics of the song, "Glitter in the Air", by Pink. _

Author's note: Thanks for reading this. I got this idea when listening to the song one night, the plot came into my head almost instantaneously and I couldn't let it rest until it was all written up proper.

Ophelia Davis


End file.
